


Perception: Contrast

by farad



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 15:16:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2233755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farad/pseuds/farad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Summer Stockings; a fourth story that indirectly involves Chris and his bright window, as rendered by the talented DichotomyStudios, here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1790695 .</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perception: Contrast

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Set after "Wagon Train". Special thanks to my awesome betas and to Dichotomystudio's for the use of the wonderful illustration of Chris. All mistakes my own. (Feel free to send feedback; it's still sort of in beta . . . )

Vin sat with his mare's leg across his thighs, propped on his saddle. His horse grazed on a lead yards away, though the gelding's head was up, staring into the darkness past the glow of the small fire. The moon was bright, almost full, yet in contrast, it cast long, deep shadows, ones easy enough to hide a man. Vin knew this, he'd learned it long ago when he'd lived with the Comanche and Kiowa. They'd loved nights like this, using them to attack enemies. It was a lesson Vin had learned well, using the shadows himself when necessary.

Someone else had learned it too. In the distance, another horse made low chirping noises, and Vin's horse answered them. 

The other horse, and its rider, had been there for a while now. When Vin had first heard them, he'd drawn his gun, ready to defend himself, but now he knew who they were. He didn't need the gun for his human visitor – though he suspected he still needed a strong defense. 

Though truth be told, he couldn't quite figure out why. The man sitting on the horse had made it right clear for a long time now that things between them were simple – no promises, no obligations. Walk away by dawn and it was like it had never happened. 

Some times, Vin thought it hadn't, that it was a dream he had from time to time, when his body made its own demands. 

The way the other man acted in the daylight put paid more often than not to that idea. Most days, it seemed that they barely knew each other. 

His horse shifted and snorted, and Vin heard the slow hoofbeats of the newcomer. They stopped just out of sight, and Vin waited a while longer, his frustration growing. He was tired and hurt and angry – mostly angry, at himself, Charlotte, and the world at large. He didn't need anybody else to tell him he'd been a fool. He was pretty clear on that all on his own. 

“Could shoot you,” he called out eventually, when the irritation grew too strong. 

“Indeed,” came the slow drawl of an answer. “Or you could run off to some far away place. Again.”

The last word was sharp and cold, sending a chill on the night air. 

Vin sighed and closed his eyes. He almost wished it were someone who intended him bodily harm – maybe someone coming to take him back to Tascosa or some renegade Indians looking to get their own brand of justice. That'd be easier than this. 

But then again, he wasn't really sure what 'this' was. If Ezra was really pissed, he'd not be here. He'd wash his hands of Vin altogether, ignore him when he was around – which he had, on the ride back to town after they'd left the settlers of the wagon train. Charlotte hadn't even turned to wave to him as he'd ridden off, across the river. And Ezra hadn't once approached Vin on the way back, nor even looked at him when they'd been sitting around the campfire or doling out the nightly chores. 

Ezra hadn't spoken to Vin once; he'd spoken about him – loudly, to anyone within earshot, making it more than a little clear that he was angry, but when Vin had tried to talk to him, to figure out what the hell Ezra was angry about, Ezra had acted as if Vin weren't there, walking off or turning his attention to someone, anyone else. 

Granted, Vin hadn't made an attempt to explain. He wasn't sure that he could. And of all the others – Chris, Buck, Josiah, Nathan, JD - Ezra was the last one who should have wanted an explanation. He'd made it damned clear for a long time now that what happened between them didn't mean nothing, not one damned thing. He didn't need Vin. 

Charlotte had needed him, though, and something in him, something he didn't understand, had needed to be needed. Only it had turned out that what she needed didn't really have anything to do with him, personally. He just happened to be the fool who she needed to get her own head straight about her marriage.

“Reckon I could,” he said after a time, his eyes still closed. “Reckon I been wondering if I oughta just go on somewhere – not to Brazil, but maybe back to Tascosa, get that straightened out one way or the other.”

It was weighing on him, now, leftover from what had happened with Charlotte. If he'd taken up with her, he'd have had to run away, to keep her safe. 'Cause he wasn't gonna let no woman he cared about live the way his ma had, having to fend for herself and her young'uns. He wasn't gonna let no one who needed him have to suffer him not coming home, not if he could avoid it. 

“That seems rather extreme,” Ezra said, his voice softer now, and the tone not as hard. “Perhaps it might be more productive to consider why you felt inclined to get into this situation to start with.”

Vin shook his head, wondering not for the first time what it was that kept him talking to Ezra. “What you think I've been doing for the past few days?”

Ezra finally dismounted from his horse. As he loosened the saddle's girth, he said, “I could dare imagine. Whatever do you usually do when you're out in the wilds for days on end?”

Vin's fingers tightened around his mare's leg until he realized what he was doing. With effort, he said, “Depends on what needs doing, but it ain't usually trying to figure out why I was being so stupid.”

“Because usually you ain't so stupid?” Ezra said, patting his horse on the neck as he walked away, his bed roll resting over one shoulder. In the brightness of the moon, Vin could tell that the horse hadn't been tied off. But then Ezra never tied off his horse. Damned creature came when Ezra called, like a dog. Right now, it ambled off toward Vin's horse, the two of them comfortable together. 

“Who the hell invited you to stay?” Vin said as Ezra drew near to the small fire. The night was warm enough that the fire wasn't for warmth but for the pot of coffee that sat in it, the smell of it soft on the night air. 

“I thought perhaps I could help you with the analysis,” Ezra said, ignoring Vin's temper – as he usually did. “And to be fair, I wonder if, in some small way, I am to blame for some of your reasons.”

Vin blinked and looked away, up toward the moon. It was climbing up the sky, almost like it was the sun. A magical moon, maybe, surely a moon that could cause trouble, maybe even cause people to hear things that weren't there.

When he looked back to Ezra, the other man had untied and spread his bed roll and was sitting on it, his coat open, his hat to one side, and one hand reaching into one of the many pockets of his red coat to draw out his flask. 

As Ezra twisted off the cap, Vin asked, “You think you're the cause of what I did?” He tripped over the words as he tried to make sense of them. Sure was like Ezra to think that that he knew better than anyone else, but this was going a little far, even for him. “You taken up magic or some such, so that you could make my head go all soft and stupid?”

Ezra lifted the flask to his lips but the smile caught him before he swallowed. In the moonlight, he was easy to read, easy to see. “Magic,” he repeated slowly, as if was hearing the word for the first time. “No, I hardly think that's the case.” He shook his head, his smile growing big enough for his gold tooth to flash before he pulled himself together enough to take the drink. 

Vin drew in a long, slow breath, clearing his head. “You got something to say,” he said as patiently as he could, “then just say it.”

Ezra looked at Vin, one of those looks that Vin hated. It was the look he gave someone when he was sizing 'em up to see how to best get what he wanted. It was a look Vin knew well. Though it wasn't one he was used to out here, in the night, in the desert. It was better suited for Ezra's big bedroom. 

Vin pushed away from his saddle, thinking to get up, get his horse, and get the hell out of here. But as he rolled to his knees, Ezra said, “I think what I'm trying to say, with some difficulty, is that I suspect part of your . . . attraction to Mrs. Richmond might have been because of me. Or, more correctly, because of the delicate situation between us.”

'Delicate situation'. For a second, the anger burned through him like a dry grass fire. But more powerful, least with him, than the anger was the humor of it. His mouth got away with him before he could stop it. “That what you call fucking me in your room every chance you get?”

He could tell that his words had hit a mark by the way Ezra stiffened, sitting up taller, his legs stretching out before him so that the heels of his fancy boots dug into sand. But he had better control of his runaway tongue – this time, anyway – and he drew in a long, loud breath, took another sip of whatever good liquor he had in his flask, then made himself relax again before he answered. His voice was still low, but there was a hardness in it that let Vin know he was angry. “I don't recall you being averse to our arrangement.”

Vin almost laughed, but he caught himself. No sense in truly pissing Ezra off, not for this. This wasn't worth it. “If you're saying I got my own out of it, damned right I did. Ain't taking that kind of risk just to please you or nobody else. 

Ezra nodded, once, the brim of his hat casting a dark shadow on the ground between them. “And yet, you seem to have done so with Mrs. Richmond.”

This time, the anger was stopped dead in its place by the surprise. He hadn't been thinking of it that way at all. And yet – and yet, yeah, there it was. Will Richmond had wanted to shoot him dead, had run him off his land as soon as he could. The only thing that had stopped Charlotte's lawful husband from killed Vin was the others, Chris and Josiah and Buck. Vin had taken a risk, a big one. He'd come as close to dying as he could. He'd been willing to risk it for her – why?

As he pondered it through, Ezra settled back a little more, making himself to home. He started talking, his voice still low and even, so pretty that it took Vin a while to realize it wasn't a song he was singing. "I understand that our arrangement is based on what I want, or at least what I thought I wanted. I am the one who told you from the start, and who has continued to say, that ours is a simple arrangement, uncomplicated by emotions or attachment. I have been the one to enforce your departure in the wake of our . . . activities, as it were, and I am the one to enforce our public appearance of casual friendship. It has been my belief that it is both safer for us to keep a great distance between us, both in front of others and even in private." He paused and took another sip of his whiskey. The silver flask caught the moonlight and flashed into Vin's eyes, momentarily blinding him. Just like Ezra to drink his way through this. 

Though truth be told, Vin wouldn't have minded a little false courage now, himself. He was pretty damned tired of the raw, open wound that was his heart.

"I think now . . . I think now I was wrong." The last words were more a whisper, so quiet that Vin wasn't sure he'd heard them right. 

"What?" he said, shaking his head slightly and sitting back on his heels. 

Ezra's flask flashed again but this time, Vin glanced away. In the distance, he could see another, different reflection, one that looked like light on water. 

"I think you heard me," Ezra said, sounding testy. But as Vin thought on how to answer that, Ezra sighed and said it again. "I said that I think I was wrong."

Vin looked back to him, noticing that Ezra was looking too at the light in the distance. "Don't think I've heard you say words like that right often, but I reckon it matters more what you think you're wrong about."

Ezra's eyes stayed on the distance, and for a time, he didn't speak. Vin waited him out, though, taking the time to ease himself back into a sitting position, his gun propped againt his saddle beside him. He fed some dry grass grass into the fire, to keep it going and to watch the color of the flames and coals. The flames were a red color, with a hint of green to the center. They reminded him of Ezra, quick and hot on the outside, but darker on the inside, hiding their real colors. 

"Do you think Mr. Larabee knows we're here?" Ezra asked eventually. "Do you think he can see us through his glass?"

Vin looked back to the light in the distance, the reflection of the moonlight off the fancy window Chris had paid way too much for, at least by Vin's reckoning. "Don't reckon he'd care if he could see us," he said. "He knows I camp around here from time to time."

Ezra turned then, looking at Vin. The firelight caught in his eyes, making them look as if they, too, were burning. "That wasn't what I asked. Do you think he can see us?"

Vin looked back to the distant light. "Maybe if he had a looking glass like I got. But I don't think he does – what does it matter? You worried he might see you here with me?"

It was an old tension between them. Vin knew that Ezra sought Chris' approval – and he knew that Ezra was jealous of the friendship Vin had with Chris. He knew, too, in that way he knew himself, that Ezra's need for Chris' approval annoyed him. 

Just as he'd been annoyed at Will Richmond. Annoyed that Charlotte had felt concern for him when he had treated her the way he had, annoyed that she had chosen to care for Richmond, uncaring of Vin's own hurt. 

Ezra smiled again, though this time, his gold tooth didn't catch the light. "I thought perhaps you were worried that he would see you here with me."

The other side of the tension; Ezra's belief that what they got up to was because Vin couldn't get up to the same thing with Chris. It was such a thought as to make Vin grin, no matter how many times Ezra said it. "You know Chris ain't got no interest in that sort of thing."

Ezra nodded slowly. "What are you actually saying then?" He drew each word out carefully, and Vin sat for a time, thinking about them and what they meant. 

The idea came slow, dredged up from the dark of his mind. He had to look back at the light of Chris' window more than once, as if the shine of that light was pulling the thoughts from some place so deep inside that he couldn't reach them. 

Even when the thought was in his head, it seemed too wild, too big. Too – too . . . dangerous.

But for the first time in days, the pain of losing what he'd thought he had with Charlotte eased. For the first time in days, he felt that warm feeling he'd had in his belly when she'd looked at him, when she'd said his name. When she'd suggested that they run away together, to someone where they could start over. 

He looked back to Ezra, studying him. Ezra sat still, quiet, which wasn't his usual way. He was staring once more at the place where Chris was, and if Vin wanted to, he could have believed that Ezra was imaging what Chris was doing up there, how he looked in that big bed he'd bought to put in front of that damned window. If he wanted to, he could imagine that Ezra was doing the same thing Charlotte had, settling for him because he was the one who was there, the one who cared. 

But he didn't want to. He wanted to believe that this idea in his head now, this idea that he thought Ezra had given him, was what Ezra was thinking too. 

He wanted to believe that what he'd felt for Charlotte was the right thing to feel, but the wrong person to feel it with. 

It was that, the thought of what he'd almost done with her, the mistake he'd almost made, that made his tongue work, faster than his head. He turned, looking straight at Ezra, ignoring all the ways he could be wrong here, all the ways that this could end up as bad as the mess with Charlotte. "Reckon I'm saying that it don't matter if Chris is up there. Reckon that I don't care what he thinks 'bout you being here with me. Reckon that I don't really care much what anyone thinks, 'cept you."

Ezra didn't move, not at first. He was still so long that Vin thought maybe he hadn't spoken, that he'd dreamed that he had, or that a magic moon had made his words disappear into the night. 

Or that he'd been wrong, that right now, Ezra was going to get up and walk away, turn his back on Vin just like Charlotte had. 

But as he sat there, wondering if he should say them again, wondering if he could say them again, Ezra slowly turned to look at the fire. "I was wrong to think that what we have isn't important. It is important. I – I . . . I need you. I need for you to . . . to be with me."

It was what had been in Vin's head. But now, with the words from Ezra, it took shape and form. It was still as big as it had been, and as wild, but somehow, it was real now. Not like Brazil, which had never been a clear picture for him. 

He opened his mouth to speak but the words wouldn't come. That wasn't his way, anyway. Instead, he once more rolled up onto his knees and crawled the short distance between them. Careful not to drag sand onto Ezra's bedroll, he leaned in, giving Ezra time to stop him. 

Ezra didn't. The hand that came up touched Vin's chest and drifted slowly up to rest on one shoulder. But he did say, slowly, "Do you think he can see us?"

Just before their lips touched, Vin asked, "Don't matter, does it?"

Ezra tilted his head just a little, his words covering over Vin's pain like a balm. "No, it doesn't. It only matters that the next time you decide to run away, it's me that's riding with you."

Vin smiled as their lips finally touched. The last thought he had of Charlotte was that she had led him to where he needed to be.


End file.
